


it's not blood, it's a metaphor for love

by andromedastars



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Revolution, but nevertheless there is angst, i mean it's implied that they have sex, no beta we die like the barricade boys, not very canon compliant i moved some things around, well the angst is at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedastars/pseuds/andromedastars
Summary: “You will never be alone. I will be there. Even when the sun fades, and the stars fail, I will be there. You may simply reach out and ask. In the words sprawled across the page, I am there. In the soft meadows under the sun, I am there. Even if I am gone, I am never gone, not even in death. You will always have me.”Or, Jehan is poetic, Marius is both flirty and flustered, and then promises are made.
Relationships: Marius Pontmercy/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	it's not blood, it's a metaphor for love

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a brief thing where marius was just supposed to comment on jehan's flowery paragraph after i saw smth about long-winded works, but then it turned into . . . this. i promise this was not meant to have angst. i promise. it was supposed to be fluff all the way through. i wanted more marius/jehan and so decided to be the change i wanted in the world. this ship is underrated and i love it to bits.
> 
> title taken from "illness as a metaphor" from bloody bloody andrew jackson.

Jehan lounged across the couch they sometimes called a bed, as they stared at Marius, who seemed to be trying his very best to disappear.

“Well? Do tell me how it is, I should think there might be some improvements to be made.”

“Uh…” Marius peered at the paper they were holding, which contained Jehan’s latest scribbles of ink, fashioned into yet another paragraph of prose. “It’s, uh, flowery. Very wordy.”

Jehan laughed. “But that’s the whole point!”

He rolled his eyes. “This obfuscation of the words and their meaning defeats the purpose of reading. How am I supposed to enjoy it if I can’t make heads or tails of it?”

“On the contrary! This allows others to draw their own conclusion, to interpret how they like, and to pore over the text over and over!” Jehan was a self proclaimed person of words, who always kept a quill and a bottle of ink ready in case an idea came to them. In fact, words fascinated them so much that they had taken to studying them. Their favorite words were the most complicated, the ones you could dissect, or trace back thousands of years.

Marius, on the other hand, was more a person of logic, rhetoric, and numbers, and so had more trouble trying to figure out what Jehan had put down on paper. He frowned. “All well and good, but this paragraph should be relatively . . .” His brow furrowed in concentration. “Consuming . . . delicate mix . . . of which we delightfully call . . .” He looked at Jehan with fond exasperation. “Jehan, my dear, this is a very long winded way of saying ‘They ate some bread.’ Poetic, but long winded. And confusing.”

They sniffed in mock offense. “It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate the written word.”

“Be quiet, or I’ll subject you to my textbooks and arithmetic.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Marius winked. “I would.”

Jehan groaned. "Now your textbooks are the very definition of wordy and confusing. “What is a-a--” They sputtered as they tried to think of something one might learn in law school. “A-A--the person who, uh, does the law--oh, forget it!”

Marius had the audacity to  _ laugh  _ as he placed the paper on a table and sat down on Jehan’s lap, crushing him a little. (Jehan loved him very much but he was quite tall and they were quite small, which made for some uncomfortable positions.) “I believe the word you are looking for is ‘lawyer.’”

Jehan grumbled, “Shut up.”

“You adore me.”

“Not when you make fun of my inability to understand the law!”

“I think lawyers are knowledgeable of the law, not the law itself.”

They rolled their eyes. “I suppose that’s my fault for wording it that way, but my point still stands!”

Marius leaned over them, their eyes sparkling. “Does it, now?”

Their breath hitched, as Marius was now inches away from them, but they pressed on. “It does.”

“Shall I debate you on that?”

“You may try.”

They were almost touching, for Marius had leaned even closer, and was now absentmindedly (or purposely) toying with their cravat, which they prided on tying in the most bizarre way possible. He batted his eyelids slowly, knowing damn well they couldn’t resist those soft puppy eyes and long, curled lashes (which Jehan did not study every night, no they did not). Jehan cursed him under his breath, for there was no way they could win a debate like this. No, Marius knew what they were doing, and it was driving Jehan mad.

“A lawyer is born to debate, my darling Prouv,” he whispered, his tongue rolling the R softly and delicately as he whispered the nickname he’d come up with for Jehan. (In reality, it was Joly who came up with it, but no one ever really used it besides Marius and maybe Joly.) “And I’ve gotten better orally.” They blinked and blushed as they realized the unintentional meaning of their words. “Uh, you know what I mean.” His face was now a tomato.

Jehan loved it when Marius was all flustered, when he mixed up his words and blurted out the wrong thing, or when they whispered dirty longings in his ear, or when they made love and he would try and muffle his cries, so as to not disturb their neighbors. (It didn’t work, the walls were thin and they had quite the nosy neighbors, which neither of them appreciated.) When Marius was flustered he would blush, head to toe, and it was a sight to behold. As they now laid on the couch, they laughed and pushed aside some of Marius deep red curls which were hanging in his face.

“Mm. Show me what that mouth can do, then.”

Marius blushed even harder, and now looked even more like he wanted to disappear. He stammered for a bit, before regaining his composure. It amazed Jehan how they could go from saucy minx to flustered tomato in a few seconds. “If you insist,” they said, before pressing a chaste kiss to Jehan’s lips.

Jehan would’ve asked for something more forceful, but they lost their train of thought as Marius began to press kisses all over, their forehead, their cheek, their ear, as if trying to touch every inch of skin.

It was at this point that Jehan felt something loosening. Their cravat! Marius must’ve distracted them long enough to expose their neck. Oh, the sly fox. “You bastard--” they began to say, before Marius cut them off with a kiss, deeper this time. They were now fully on top of them, and they began to work their way down as they tossed Jehan’s cravat aside.

Jehan gasped a bit as Marius nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on their collarbone, and let out a soft whine as he returned to the spot with another wet kiss. “Don’t stop,” they hissed as he paused to swipe away a few strands of hair in their face.

He snorted. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not end up eating your hair after all is said and done.” Jehan rolled their eyes but gasped again as they once again continued to pepper kisses on their upper body.

After a few minutes of this, Marius frowned, before untying his own cravat and taking off his waistcoat. Jehan took the opportunity to sit up (as best they could) and grasped Marius gently by the chin. This time, it was they who began to kiss their way down the body, as their thumb brushed against Marius’ nipple. He gritted his teeth and placed a hand on Jehan’s shoulder, bracing himself as he let out soft moans and whines.

Jehan became irritated with the shirts still on their bodies. “For God’s sake,” they muttered, desperately clawing at the buttons on Marius’ shirt, before they placed a hand on theirs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” His eyes wandered to the windows. “Also, should I draw the curtains?”

“Huh?” They strained to look at where Marius was looking, but they managed a glimpse. “Oh yes, please. Otherwise we’ll get no peace from our neighbors.”

Marius muttered something unkind about said neighbors before getting up and drawing the curtains shut (which happened to be a lovely floral pattern that Jehan got for free).

“Now, where were we . . .” he said as he took off his shirt. Jehan laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him.

~*~

Jehan leaned back in the small tub as Marius rubbed their shoulders. “Hm,” they said absentmindedly, staring off into space.

“And to think, I was supposed to be proofreading your work,” he said, laughing. Jehan rolled their eyes, but they knew it was true. Still, they couldn’t resist poking fun a little.

“This is all your fault, you distracted me with your terribly good looks!”

“Oh, my fault?” Marius leaned a little closer. “I’d like to think we share the blame."

“But you were exceptionally distracting,” Jehan sniffed. “With your tousled curls, blessed by the gods themselves, red as the rubies of legend . . .” They continued rattling off poetic descriptions of Marius as he laughed.

Jehan interlaced their fingers with his. His freckles were especially prominent on his right hand. “Hm,” they said again.

“You’re thinking,” Marius said.

“I’m always thinking.”

“But not always lost in your thoughts.”

They sighed. Marius knew them too well. “Suppose . . . suppose we stay together.” They could feel him tensing up; this conversation was a touchy one. “I know that you will always love and cherish me, you must know that, but what of your duties? What of your lineage? What of--” They almost said Cosette. That was strictly off limits, and Jehan cursed themselves for even thinking of her

Marius gritted his teeth. “I told you. I don’t want the title. I don’t want anything my grandfather’s given me, I don’t want the duty, and . . .” His glare told Jehan that he knew what they were about to say. “I love Cosette, but we are not meant to be. I will not give my grandfather the satisfaction of knowing he had the upper hand on my love life.”

Jehan leaned back even further, pressing themselves against Marius’ chest. “Alright."

Marius sighed. “I want nothing to do with him. He was cruel. He kept things from me. My life was a lie.”

“Mm.”

“I know it might seem terribly cruel to say this, but I would not be sad if he died. He has done too much that I cannot forgive.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “You must think me vindictive.”

“Not at all. I remember our fearless leader once saying that family is what you make it. You are not obligated to stay in his life or give him anything.”

“Yes, but . . .” They removed their hands from Jehan's shoulders, and Jehan turned around to face them. “It’s awfully hard to distance oneself from someone one should consider family.”

Jehan stood up, and got out of the tub, before hugging Marius, who grumbled that they were now wet all over again, but did not seem too unhappy. “Marius Pontmercy, know this. I will be there for you, always. Should you choose to distance yourself or not. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Marius nodded, before burying his head in Jehan’s hair. From the way he silently shook they could tell he was crying. “Thank you,” he hoarsely whispered.

Jehan said nothing, just continued to hug him, for Marius needed reassurance and they were all too happy to give it. After all, once upon a time, a while ago, they’d promised to take care of him, and he promised to take care of them. And why should they break that promise now?

~*~

_ “You will never be alone. I will be there. Even when the sun fades, and the stars fail, I will be there. You may simply reach out and ask. In the words sprawled across the page, I am there. In the soft meadows under the sun, I am there. Even if I am gone, I am never gone, not even in death. You will always have me.” _

Marius’ body shook, harder than it ever had. The scrap of paper in his hands was thoroughly soaked with tears.  _ You said you would always be there. But you’re not. You broke your promise. _

His mind kept racing, back to that fateful day he’d confessed to Jehan, back to when they’d hastily fucked against the wall for the first time, back to when he finally left his grandfather for good and collapsed into Jehan’s arms, crying. Back to all those memories shared, to all those memories he’d only remember, never relive, ever again.

They wanted to scream and yell, but the words caught in their throat. Over and over again, the words  _ “You left me”  _ replayed in their mind. They knew they weren’t being fair, but if life was to be unfair, so would they.

Over and over, the words danced in his mind.

Stupid Enjolras.

Stupid revolution.

Stupid barricade.

Stupid Jehan.

But most of all, stupid him. How stupid of him to go to that barricade, that damned site of despair. Why did he? He went to fight for a better tomorrow, only to find that yesterday still prevailed. How stupid of him to think anything would change. Marius thought back to a nihilistic poem Jehan had heavily criticized years ago.  _ “Nothing changes, nothing ever can.”  _ He laughed bitterly. Jehan had scoffed at that poem, stating that over time, things would change for the better, that people always strove to be the best they could be.  _ Is that true?  _ Marius thought bitterly.  _ Look what happened. _

They placed a bouquet of flowers in front of the tombstone. “Prouv,” they managed to spit out, angry. Angry with what, at what, they didn’t know. “I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy wherever you are, happy to be free, happy to--” They broke off with a sob. “You said you’d be with me, Prouv. You said you’d always be there for me. But you’re not, you’re  _ dead _ , and there’s no way I’ll see you again.”

Marius looked at the words, the final words Jehan had written for them. “You said you would never be truly gone. You said I could find you everywhere. But I can’t, and you’re gone, you’re fucking gone, and it’s--” He cut himself off.  _ It’s my fault. It’s my stupid fault. _

A soft wind blew over the cemetery. It was sunny, which was quite unfair, but Marius had learned that life was unfair. However, in this soft wind, he swore he could hear a small tinkle of laughter, of sad laughter. It sounded like . . . but no, Jehan was dead. He was imagining things.

_ “I said you would always be able to find me, all you had to do was ask,”  _ a voice breathed into Marius’ ear.  _ “I promised that I would be there, and I never break a promise so serious as this.” _

A pause.  _ “It was not your fault, what happened at the barricades. I chose to go there. I chose to stay. In the end, it was never your fault. _

_ “I am happy, but I weep when I see you. My heart aches for your grief, for your pain. I only hope that in time, you will be able to enjoy the sunlight again. But again, know that I am always nearby. Know that I live in the blooming flowers of spring, in the lively bustling mornings in Paris, in the poetry books of old. Know that I live in you, that you carry your love for me, and therefore you carry me. Know that one day, we will meet again, and it will be the most joyful of reunions.” _

Another pause, and this time, Marius swore he could feel arms wrapping around him, and the soft lips of Jehan pressing against his cheek.  _ “Know that I love you, Marius, and I always will. Goodbye, but only temporarily. Remember that even the darkest of nights must end, and the sun must rise. It is only science.” _

And then Marius was all alone again. “Wait!” he cried. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave . . .” He sobbed into his hands.

Was it true? Could he really find Jehan around him? Could he really find Jehan in the everyday?

The grass around him was green but not soft. The cemetery was harsh and unforgiving. Yet there was something Jehan-esque about it. Another laugh escaped his lips, but this time, it was happier. It was their wish to be buried here, next to the supposedly haunted crypt, where they once explored. Marius could see why, the mix of whimsical and macabre, the flowery language of Romantics, posed against the cold, harsh stone of the tombstones. He laughed again, the tears still flowing from his eyes. It was true, he confirmed. Jehan was right, they would always be there, and Marius could always find them.

He stood up, and took one last look at the tombstone. Maybe he would be okay after all.

**Author's Note:**

> so obviously i played a little loose with some of the details, such as cosette being the proposed bride for marius instead of them falling in love. don't worry, they very much are friends, and have decided to go along with the Plan, for their own safety and benefit.
> 
> also idk how the timeline even works in this, but marius is staying with jehan.
> 
> two references to the musical here, see if you can find them (it's not that hard i'm terrible at being subtle)
> 
> hope you enjoyed, leave some comments and kudos!


End file.
